Poesis in the Age of Wienie Grease

I’ve discovered that what’s called poesis, said to be the making and shaping of poems — they must be shaped as well as made! — is not straightforward.

For one, you have to follow your feelings rather than steer them.

For another, it takes thought and craft. Line breakage oft leads but to wrack and rune — smite my nasty afflatus.

Such dawnings don’t rustle and bustle in a fake-headline sort of way; they hit home psychoactively, but in a delayed burn.

Cherubim in my belfry do not choir, if they ever did. My God-light is a smoke signal puffed from a campfire pissed on by poesis.

(c) 2020 JMN

About JMN

I live in Texas and devote much of my time to easel painting on an amateur basis. I stream a lot of music, mostly jazz, throughout the day. I like to read and memorize poetry.
This entry was posted in Anthology and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.